


One step at a time

by towards_morning



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-08-19 11:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towards_morning/pseuds/towards_morning
Summary: Ratchet and Drift fall together quite a bit before they admit that there's a reason for it. Life up in space in lonely, and any port in a storm is worth pursuing, even when the emotional fallout starts to take its toll.Or: that fic where Ratchet and Drift start a friends-with-benefits situation long before they understand why. But they'll find their way eventually.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's always been rare that I post chaptered fic before I finish the whole thing, but I do know where this is going, so...
> 
> This is a 3+1 fic, of the "three times dratchet thought they were fuckbuddies and the one time they realised they weren't" variety!
> 
> Enjoy.

Delphi was two weeks gone before Drift found the time, let alone the emotional resilience, to join Ratchet in the bar again.  
  
Over their time on the Lost Light, it had become an irregular habit of theirs to bicker there. Not one that was planned, on either side. But neither had a natural gravitation towards larger groups, and both had an interest in a good argument, so it had simply become an unspoken occurence. Drift enjoyed it. Frankly, he enjoyed the chance to be a little bitter and annoyed in contrast to his self-imposed rule of staying calm around the vast majority of the crew, trying to improve the impression he knew full well his past made on most of them. Ratchet didn't much care. That was its own relief, sometimes.  
  
But Delphi had been such a mess, and Ratchet had locked himself into increasingly burdensome work shifts in the weeks following, and Drift hadn't been able to talk himself into trying to start anything up since. Sometimes he would try. But then he'd see Ratchet looking down at those new hands, and he'd shy away.  
  
Not tonight. Drift didn't trust himself to drink much, even now, but he'd had a couple and spotted Ratchet over in the corner booth, away from any crowds. So Drift screwed his courage and slid in next to Ratchet.  
  
"Hey," he said, nudging a characteristically sullen Ratchet as he settled in.  
  
"Oh," responded Ratchet, glancing up from an award-winning glaring competition with his drink, "it's you. Hello."  
  
"As warm a welcome as always," said Drift, trying on a smile. Ratchet only looked back down in response. "How have you been? I haven't seen you since- in a while," Drift said, holding his jaw steady as he kept the smile resolutely on his face and did not look down to where Ratchet's new hands were holding his drink steady, steady.  
  
"How have you been?" said Drift again, resorting to inanity in the face of not knowing what to say. It was out of step enough with how these encounters tended to go that he just barely avoided flinching. To his relief, Ratchet only raised his glass and gave his typical wry smile.  
  
"Oh, you know," he said, taking a swallow of some garish drink that Swerve had no doubt invented on the fly, "I've been worse. Nobody's blown themselves up in a few days which, on a ship that has both Brainstorm and Whirl on it, is as close to a miracle as I'm willing to accept. So I've had time to practice with..." Ratchet trailed off, optics dimming, but he waggled his fingers and took another drink like a champ.  
  
Drift considered tact, then remembered who he was talking to. "You're welcome," he said, tipping his own glass. Ratchet stared at him for a few seconds and then snorted. "Primus provides in strange ways," he added, just to see Ratchet's smirk change to a more energetic scowl.  
  
"Oh," Ratchet said, rolling his optics, "So I suppose Primus told you that really, the _best_ way to find peace and harmony was spontaneous amputation. I see. Well, Drift, thank him for me the next time the topic of organ theft comes up."  
  
Drift smiled, that particular serene smile he knew would put Ratchet in a snit, and leant in. "Like I said: strange ways," he teased, broadening that smile when Ratchet's brow only furrowed deeper. A warm familiarity spread from his spark. Ratchet held his insistent, gentle stare.  
  
Then he just had to go and ruin the facade. "Thank you," Ratchet said, his hands flexing. "As strange as it is to say about such a scrapheap of a mess."  
  
Drift felt his smile waver into something less sure. "Don't mention it."  
  
"Ridiculous," Ratchet countered, and Drift felt his resolve stutter when Ratchet leaned just a fraction closer. Normally only Drift did that, their steps well choreographed even so early into a tenuous sort-of friendship. "It was a mess and I hate it, but even so. Thank you, Drift."  
  
_Say something,_ Drift told himself, feeling his jaw clench. The silence proved unbearable even against a chattering mass just beyond their perception, staring at each other as they were.  
  
Drift broke first and ducked away. Ratchet didn't. "I mean it," Drift said, "Please don't mention it."  
  
When Ratchet said nothing, Drift dared look back up. He hadn't moved. They were close, close enough that Drift felt the urge to move away. But he didn't, and after a moment he could even fully meet Ratchet's optics.  
  
It wasn't totally a surprise when he felt Ratchet's hand brush his. It didn't make Drift feel any closer to knowing what to do. Ratchet's hand remained there, tantalising and close, as his friend locked eyes with Drift and downed his drink in one fluid motion.  
  
When Ratchet stood, Drift followed, leaving his own drink half finished.  
  
"I'll walk you back," said Drift, not even really hearing his own voice as he did. Ratchet's optics were bright as they kept their respective stares steady. Their hands were still touching. When Ratchet smiled, small and sure, Drift felt his spark contract.  
  
"I'd like that," said Ratchet, eyes on his. When he held out a hand, Drift took it, and only hesitated for a moment. It was warm in his own, and Drift let himself be pulled in and away as they left the bar behind.  


  


* * *

  


Drift was pinned down between strong limbs on the berth, and in the dim light that neither had bothered to turn up before crashing together Drift could barely see his partner's features as they ground against each other. Ratchet's optics were offline, but Drift couldn't bear to look away even as he gasped into Ratchet's neck. All he could see was the faintest glimmer of white out the corner of his eye. When Ratchet's hands moved down to stroke against his panel, he spat static, embarrassed at his own unexpected desperation.  
  
Ratchet chuckled against him and did it again, the absolute slagger, firm and unyielding as he kept stroking, up and down. Firm and sure. Well, at least one of them felt like they knew what they were doing, Drift thought, pushing between their too-close bodies to try and work his own hand down towards Ratchet's panel.  
  
By the time Drift got there Ratchet had already opened to him, hot as a furnace already. A perverse sense of pride made Drift want to hold off on the same. Perhaps not _just_ pride, though. Drift moaned as Ratchet doubled down on his attention to the plating there, so focused on working him open that Drift moaned at just the idea of all that intense, furitive focus being channeled towards him. When he pulled his hand up around Ratchet's spike, he felt that clever hand stutter and curl against him involuntarily. And then when Drift pulled back down, Ratchet hissed, and Primus, that did him in.  
  
The moment Drift's panels snapped back he felt Ratchet move up to his node, two fingers ghosting around it while Drift did his absolute best not to just lose it there and then. Without even thinking about it he moved back up from Ratchet's neck to kiss him, eager, slick tongues mirroring the way Ratchet's clever hands slid down to press into Drift's valve. Two fingers right off the bat and just enough burn to satisfy. Drift felt his hips stutter up even as he broke the kiss, gasping, fighting to keep his optics online as he watched Ratchet's own flicker back on.  
  
There was a moment where they kept eye contact, even as those relentless digits kept stroking Drift. But then he couldn't stop himself from moaning and pressing back into Ratchet's neck. It was just too much, and when a third thick digit slipped in him he tightened his grip around Ratchet's spike and fought around the static in his vocaliser.  
  
"Please," he said, bucking his hips towards Ratchet's spike. He was clumsy with need. When his folds brushed over the head, he felt Ratchet twitch. "In me, please," he begged, his self control entirely gone as he shamelessly pushed against it. When he felt Ratchet grasp himself and push in, Drift could have sobbed. The slow, inexorable burn had him move his hands to grip Ratchet's shoulders, gasping.  
  
"I have you," he heard Ratchet murmur. His partner was more thick than long, and it didn't take much before Drift was fully seated, both of them pausing. It had been some time since Drift had allowed himself this. A few moments and then Ratchet moved, and Drift with him.  
  
There was something pure and wonderful about interface without a fight. Drift had never been particularly interested in that aggressive side of such encounters, but when he'd had a reputation to uphold admitting as much had not felt safe, or sensible. Now, with Ratchet, Drift let the other mech move him up and down, pushing and pulling against his spike as sweet charge built between them, and it wasn't easy abandon but even so... even so, Drift thought as a hard thrust had him seeing stars. Even so. When he let a hand drift down from Ratchet's shoulder to pinch his node and moan into his partner's neck, when he felt Ratchet hitch against him with every thrust, it felt better than anything Drift had experienced in vorns.  
  
He came before Ratchet, his own hand spasming as he clenched around that tight, tight heat. Ratchet felt it, groaning louder as he chased his own overload, and even as Drift came down and the tenderness set in, he gasped with every thrust until Ratchet stilled in tense overload, warm and hard against his hypersensitive frame. They stayed together for a moment. No movement, no sound, just them clutched together tight, and Drift thought, _perfect_.  
  
When Ratchet finally pulled out, Drift fought down a whine. They stayed propped together on the berth, Drift leaning his helm against Ratchet's chest as they sat together.  
  
"Mind if I recharge here tonight?" Drift asked, cheek pressed against hot metal. His voice was hoarse, but then, who could blame him? Hell of a night.  
  
"Of course not," Ratchet said, poking him in the face and smirking just a little when Drift mustered the energy to glare. "As long as you don't kick, anyway. Or expect a repeat in the morning. Some of us have work to do."  
  
Drift rolled his optics. "Me included," he said, rolling away from Ratchet to lie more comfortably on the berth. He graciously ignored Ratchet's disbelieving snort. They lay there together in the dim light, and Drift smiled to see them do it optic to optic. Some bots made these things awkward; but Ratchet knew better, and Drift was glad. It had been a long few weeks, and the grounding touch of any friend was one he was grateful for.  
  
Ratchet drifted off almost immediately, and Drift watched him, content in the knowledge they understood each other. Warm arousal was replaced by content exhaustion, the likes of which Drift hadn't felt in some time, satisfying, held close. It was all well and good to hold out for romance, he thought as he drifted off, but there was a lot to be said for plain old camaraderie and trust.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Drift catches feelings, and gently skirts around them. Oops.

The second time Drift and Ratchet came together was a total accident.

Not, Drift would be hasty to clarify, an unwelcome accident. But the two of them pressed together in Drift's small, overheated quarters was not something he thought either party expected. Not even after their last dalliance. Ratchet had been nothing but brusque since then, charming and irritated by turns, and Drift himself had not pushed. He hadn't wanted more than a few silent drinks regardless. Anything else was too much.

And this lapse was just that, Drift thought to himself, even as Ratchet slammed him bodily against Drift's own berth. Wonderful, but far too much. He should really put a stop to it, Drift told himself as he spread his legs and popped his panel. Any moment now. He would, Drift thought, clinging to Ratchet's frame, he would. The heat between them was unbearable and shamefully lovely. Ratchet slid a hand up his back strut and Drift couldn't help but curl against him, warm in the face of those skittering touches. Ratchet repeated it. Up and down, up and down. Drift keened, uncontrolled this time, and feeling Ratchet's silent laugh more than he heard it. _Bastard_, thought Drift with unexpected fondness.

Both of them were clumsy with heat and a mild sense of intoxication when they fought to find a comfortable position. Two or three drinks worth of that heat, Drift thought- _it would be easier if it was more_. Feeling guilty even as he thought it. Drift hadn't even considered the potential difficulty of how they might make it feel at least a little normal. Then Ratchet's hand went towards his exposed array and it took all of ten seconds for Ratchet's wandering, clever hands to find his valve and for Drift to lose that thread of guilt entirely. He bucked up into those fingers without shame. It had been so long since he let himself feel good. He'd feel worse if it weren't for the voice at the back of his head that felt like Ratchet, chastising him for such nonsense. And what did it say that he heard that voice as Ratchet? The main thing was that they both understood that they were here to feel something better than they would otherwise, Drift told himself, just before Ratchet found his node and he lost his train of thought in favour of keening.

Drift pushed his own hand between them to press into Ratchet, hot wet heat surrounding his fingers.

They both had their spikes out; they both moaned in tandem as they rutted against each others' plating, lost in the sensations. Even a berth too small for the both of them didn't interrupt that. Drift felt them teeter over the edge for a moment before Ratchet pulled back, laughing slightly.

"Careful," he said, and Drift broke his own unspoken, unthought rule just this once to look into Ratchet's eyes, glinting with a fierce humour. "I know we can do better than that."

It was the 'we' that made Drift pause in between thrusts and- and- Ratchet was right there and _frag_. Primus help him but he wanted more, as he made eye contact. "Please," he rasped out as he felt Ratchet push him onto his back, and suddenly he wished he could be helpless in the way none of them could truly have been in wartime. Drift trusted Ratchet even as he screwed his optics shut to avoid the difficulty of looking him in the eye.

He felt Ratchet's hands stroke down his sides as they both resumed their thrusting, pushing hard. "What," Drift tried to say, gasping as Ratchet pulled him up, where they joined, an intimacy he had no roadmap for, and when had Drift ended up on his back? "Come on," he heard Ratchet say, and when Drift finally onlined his optics he saw the most charmingly frustrated scowl directed down at him. Drift couldn't help it- he huffed a laugh, but when he felt Ratchet guiding his spike up he fastened his own hand over and helped. And when Drift was seated fully in Ratchet and came face to face with him he could only hold his partner close and breathe. "What do you need, oh, Ratchet-"

If Ratchet saw the shocked tenderness Drift could not pull back, he didn't say. Drift just lost himself in the heady feeling of Ratchet's clever fingers in his valve as he began to thrust, and-

"Oh," gasped Drift when he felt Ratchet's spike slowly, slowly, inexorably push into him. "Oh, oh-" he gasped, unused to such intrusion feeling like a gift. Even as Drift tried to avoid Ratchet's gaze, sudden in its intensity, he couldn't help himself, and he saw an answering panic as they closed optics together while Ratchet slowly, inexorably pushed up and in. Never mind. Drift told himself that, never mind, don't overthink it. He heard himself whimper. Too much, all of a sudden, and to distract himself he gripped Ratchet's thick waist and thrust himself down, a sharp pleasure.

Drift had dealt with plenty of people who wanted him. But when he forced his optics back online and saw Ratchet stall at the sudden movement, felt him roughly take hold of his face, he had no idea what to do even as he tightened his valve and breathed in.

"You OK?" said Drift, not pulling back but just holding steady as Ratchet breathed. Still holding his face, and Primus but Drift wished he wouldn't, suddenly. As he felt his partner push upwards gently, Drift felt ready to fall apart, averting his eyes. Ratchet wasn't harsh as he settled in- rather, Drift found himself clutching as he felt Ratchet groan and movie against him. Frag but they were hot and close. There was a moment, just a brief moment, where Ratchet moved and pushed again and Drift thought- _oh, yes,_ one simple moment of pleasure. But when Ratchet looked into Drift's eyes as his partner shuddered into overload and just kept going, not the hard thrusts Drift had expected after their last chaotic tussle but a slow grind- this might not be so bad, thought Dirft, if he couldn't see how steady Ratchet was holding his stare, if Drift thought this sudden wild burst wasn't his own spark- but then those eyes-

Primus, thought Drift again, feeling guilty even as he wrapped his limbs tight around Ratchet, in the dark corners where all of them knew they were lost no matter how many of them pushed forward to understand how difficult it really was, being someone waiting for a thing that Drift, to this day, could not name. Not even as he desperately thrust against panels and keened. He wished he had expected this, known to fear it, and hoped it didn't show on his face as he worked himself down. This was spiralling nowhere good. When he looked into Ratchet's face he saw a bemused affection that was too warm and too much. Desperate to break it, Drift grinned. "That all you've got?" he said, and Ratchet gasped a laugh out.

"Ratchet", he said as the other picked up the pace in response, simpler than anything he had dealt with in the past millenia, and Primus but he wished it were all this simple. Because if it weren't for all this bollocks, Drift thought, it would all be so- so-

When he felt Ratchet buck under him and keen, he let his mind go blank. He felt alone for a moment. And then he felt Ratchet's hands push against his face again, clumsy, and Drift didn't overload a second time but those hands drew something out from him anyway. When Ratchet made a final hot thrust against him, Drift keened.

"Drift," Ratchet said, too even for the pulsing heat Drift could feel letting go inside him. They'd held each other's gaze last time, but this felt less equal, Drift berating himself for his strong reaction even as Ratchet held a steady gaze, warm and more than he knew what to do with. 

When Ratchet began to pull away, Drift sighed, and tried to make it sound satisfied more than bereft. He ducked away from that steady gaze. He wished he understood better why his spark felt empty without it, and even moreso than that he wished he believed it was obvious to his partner. But Ratchet only kept looking, and Drift rallied. In the face of something so steady, he couldn't waver, he told himself, even as he knew it was a losing battle.

"Dibs on the washrack," he said. Ratchet never broke eye contact.

"It's your quarters," he said after a moment's pause. "Wouldn't dream of inconveniencing you. Mind if I sleep here?"

One extra kiss couldn't hurt, Drift told himself, leaning in. He thoroughly ignored the ominous pounding of his spark as he did so; Ratchet accepted it with no apparent conflict, and so, Drift thought, that was that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, the happy and longer conclusion is coming.
> 
> Promise. ;)

Drift grunted as he felt his back hit the hard surface of the emergency pod. It was unyielding; not that he had any room to complain. Not even as he felt Ratchet swallow his keen of pain as they both licked into each others' mouths. Not even as he felt Ratchet gently stroke his spine into a softer curve, back collapsing as they both curved into each other. After all this, after Overlord- Drift deserved nothing at all, he thought. Nothing, and yet even after such pain he felt Ratchet kiss him with a desperate knowing he simply could not pretend he did not understand. He did not deserve this kindness, but nor would he ever turn it away from anyone.

Maybe he felt guilty. But Drift knew that Ratchet had his own burdens, and as he captured that warm mouth again, it was hard to want anything but to protect his friend from that guilty, hard fate.

So as he went to leave the Lost Light in a complicated disgrace- well. Drift still allowed his friend to show his appreciation, with pleasure. Noone else would. Noone else would risk such disgrace. That mix of punishment and apology was hard to resist.

They would likely never have another chance, Drift thought in all sincerity, and so what did it matter? Really?

Drift eventually pulled away more sharply than Ratchet would otherwise have allowed himself, looking away in shame as they seperated. In some ways, the forced exile was easier; being forced to go through with it became easier than deciding you had to. Drift hated to be forced, but at least in this it wasn't himself he was forcing. It would be harder otherwise. Dear Ratchet, who may not have known the full scope of Drift's failure but who nonetheless only held onto him harder with every terrible hint. Ratchet, whose reaction was only to look closer in the face of failure, and ask- "What do you need?"

"We shouldn't," Drift managed even as Ratchet's clever stolen hands found his panel. He tried again. "You- you shouldn't-" he thrust his valve against strong fingers, and hated himself for it as he felt his partner moan. Drift moaned too, but the former was more a betrayal, Drift thought to himself. More a cruel temptation. He tried and failed to keep himself together, one more loss to add to the list. When Ratchet looked up he would only have seen Drift biting his own wrist to not overload as he sheathed himself into Ratchet's waiting valve, over those clever fingers. But when Ratchet gasped, "wait-"

Drift made himself wait, regardless. Still, hot, wet. Waiting. It was- it was hard. Drift counted down, but now, here, he couldn't imagine not indulging- he couldn't imagine not- not-

Regardless. What Ratchet wanted, anything, he got. Anything. At least from Drift.

* * *

Ratchet peered down gently even as a dizzy Drift came back to himself in that pause after such a strong orgasm. Drift could only push to focus on that handsome face peering down, trying so hard to reorient. When had he overloaded? He must have done; he must have blacked out. How else would he feel so spent? Drift felt so soft in the face of all of it; no other explanation made sense.

"You OK?" said Ratchet, flat enough that any sincere answer was redundant before anyone had a chance of intervening. It took Drift a moment to understand but only a moment was needed. That itself was almost too strange to accept; Drift hadn't relied upon Autobot sensibility for too, too long. Even so, Ratchet repeated, almost beyond real life-

"Drift," he said, louder this time. "Before you- look, are you OK?"

"I have to-" Drift said, only to hear how desperate he sounded. He tried again. "I- I have to," he stammered. He wished had a better argument, a better chance to persuade. "Please, Ratchet-"

One, two, three thrusts, and a finger on his node. Ratchet keened so high, Drift saw second hand stars.

When he came to a second time, it was to Ratchet disentangling himself. Ready to leave. Ready to let Drift go- go exile himself, alone, so alone.

Drift caught his hand before he could lock himself into that isolated pod, gentle and unsure, and kissed his knuckles.

"Be well," Ratchet said after a moment, sounding sincerely regretful. Drift let that warm hand go and watched as Ratchet stepped back, in-venting on the kind of schedule only the congenitally anxious have until it silently blasted off, the seperation complete. The pod left without a fanfare that, all things considered, Ratchet thought they both had earned.

When Ratchet went back to berth alone that night, it wasn't unusual. But it was nonetheless unbearable; unexpectedly so. Drift didn't need telling to know that; Ratchet was never as opaque as he wanted to be. His hand lingered in Drift's grip too softly for that.

Before Drift left for good, in between the mess of their mutual confusion, he comforted himself that he had at least left one kiss on Ratchet's deserving hands. His stupid, cynical hands, even as he drew away and Drift watched the pod leave, with a mech braver than he had ever dared to be staring back.

Drift wished he'd said a great many things in that still aftermath, even as he touched his now cooling knuckles.

As Drift's pod left, Ratchet left a hand on the cooling spot beside him.

When it went cold, he let himself recharge, uneasy.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter at [Auto_Thots](https://twitter.com/auto_thots)!


End file.
